Drumming in the Deep
by Dagdoth Fliesh
Summary: His eyes were gentle, but within them she sensed something dark. The eyes of a beast. OCxFarkas
1. Fornjot

*Vaengr means wing in old Norse. The ae is pronounced as ee, thus you say the name as Veengr.

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><p>She could still hear the drums turning in her ears, the thrumming of ancient machines, water rushing through pipes. Always in Vaengr's ears the scratching sounds of Chaurus and the Dwemer spiders, following, always surrounding, no matter how far she ran from the Blackreach.<p>

Under her bare feet the snow crunched, icy daggers in her feet. Vaengr's raw wrists had long since been removed from their slave bindings, an effort that'd taken days of chafing the thick ropes back and forth until her hands were slippery enough with her own blood to slide free. Her climb to the surface world had been long and taxing on both her body and mind. The greedy and blood lusting hands of the Falmer who had chased her left bruises and cuts and the effort to remain silent though it all (as not to alert them of her escape), atop the suspense of not knowing what was around the next bend in those cursed ruins, had cost Vaengr dearly.

Malnourished and blinded by the storm she had escaped into, Vaengr took one misstep, and the world spun as she slipped down the mountainside. She did not have the time to scream before her head collided with a blunt rock.

She was out only momentarily, or so she suspected, for little snow had accumulated on her body by the time she awoke. Foolhardily, she tried to move. There was little outwards damage, but her head throbbed, and one of her eyes had swollen shut. Her body shook with cold, and there was a wrenching pain in her gut. The cold became her strength at that moment, for it had numbed her pains.

The fall had taken her quite some feet from the mountain pass, just under the vale of the storm clouds to see the landscape below her. It was a view she had not seen for years, and barely recognized - - barely hoped to be real, least the disappointment kill her. Dreamlike, the expanse of Skyrim unfolded outwards, mountains upon more mountains, and the plains beyond them under the dusk's sunlight.

And then the storm took away her view once again, back into the harsh tunnel vision of snow and the gray haze below her platform - - what she realized now as a precarious perch.

Vaengr gave a mockery of a laugh, and the pain of doing just that caused her tears as she gripped the rock below her.

Once she found her feet, her arms did little to block the strengthening wind. She was fatigued and loosing on hope fast. She should have stayed put… a prisoner to the Falmer. Perhaps then this incessant drumming would end. That drumming in the deep.

When Vaengr collapsed she did not know, only that her memories had blurred into one jumbled mess. She only became aware of the collapse when the strong arms pulled her up from the snow. She thought the _Gloomlurker_ had tracked her across the peaks, just to bring her back to that hell, perhaps to kill her. _Let him_, Vaengr decided. _This is freedom enough._

But the hands that cradled her were gentle, oh so gentle, for such large hands.

At some point, she was no longer bearing the full brunt force of the wind in her bones, as the thick furs of a tent did that for her. The inside was a mere warm glow under the one lit lamp within and the darkness of outside. Those hands laid her upon a bedroll, and finally away from the armor of his chest, Vaengr's one usable eye cracked open to gander at the man who'd plucked her from the snow as he turned to fasten the tent flap. Alas the glow was not enough to reveal him, only outline a warriors form…

The man unclasped his armors, shedding everything until there was nothing. The sight made her vaguely sick, not understanding why he did so. When he reached for her damp clothing, to remove it, Vaengr finally let out a strangled cry, but could muster nothing but weak struggles.

"Shh," the man said, his baritone voice thick, "I must do this or you'll die."

Vaengr could not prevent this had she wanted. Her modesty was stripped away and the broad, naked, body of the man joined her beneath the furs. Those great hands took hers, engulfing them and pulling until her numb fingers were burried between his arms and sides. Her small frame was covered by his until his breath mingled with hers and had they been any tighter together, may have fused like a soul gem and its component part.

The most masculine part of him, what made him a man, pressed against the apex of her thighs, although soft. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to be so intimately close to someone she'd never known personally, never met. And between the haze of sleep and panic, she understood why it must be so.

His breaths were slow, each forcing more of his heated flesh against her waxy skin. Her body shook uncontrollably to warm itself, and she found it difficult to breathe against his chest. His scent was musky and strong, a combination of traveling and steel. Vaengr's senses had sharpened in the dark abyss of the Blackreach, and there was an underlying stench she could not place. It made her nervous, sick, her skin crawled - - or was that only the onset of frostbite?

The next few days were hazy to Vaengr; the tent flap opening and closing, the howling of distant wolves and the wind. The constant warmth of her savior. Vaengr's body was in pain. Her extremities suffered frostbite, blackening and waxing - - like the dead. Soon the damage areas blistered and boiled with a horrible pain she'd never known before. But the warrior saw her agony and forbade her from popping the sores.

"If you do, the pain will be worse, and you'll get fever." His large hands took hers and dabbed a cooling cream from a red bottle over the sores, and Vaengr fought the urge to pull back as he anointed her wrists. He moved to dab the salve on her blackened toes, his steel armors creaking with each movement. His hazel hair was long and spilled over his back, and a light stubble had started to grow on his face. He had rugged features, but his eyes were pale blue - - and strangely gentle.

"You're quiet person," he noted, once he realized Vaengr wasn't going to fall asleep again. "My name's Farkas."

Vaengr's lips parted as if to speak before she clamped her mouth firmly shut again. She was swathed in animal skins, and during her weakness, she'd been dressed in a rough brown homespun tunic. It provided much more than her rags provided by the Falmer.

There was little room for both of them inside the tent, as it was made to fit one comfortably. Two pushed the idea, especially for Vaengr, who was not used to the close proximity of others. The Falmer barely let their human servants socialize.

She flinched at the too common memory of a pale hand, striking her. Animal-like yowls echoed in her ears. The humming seemed louder now, the thrumming of the wind against the tent might as well have been the thrumming of stone and pipe.

Vaengr realized shortly she'd held her cheek in remembrance of the brutality, and in that, she noticed Farkas had stopped applying the salve. His blue eyes stared into her, but her mind was numb and faraway - - not so far. She imagined her prison lay right below her feet. Farkas's calloused hand was warm on her ankle.

Farkas turned and unclasped the tent once again to go into the blizzard that still raged. "I'm going hunting," his voice was thick. "I'll be back before nightfall."

She hadn't realized it was day.

Alone, Vaengr's skin crawled, imagining every sound as the Falmer. The snow made hollow sounds, like some of the pipes in the underground. Alone, one's fears tend to fester. Her skin was tight and scratchy, her swollen eye burned, her gut still made the wrenching ache.

_I'd rather die than not know my death,_ the woman thought, but unable to move. Without the man's heat to fill the tent, it soon became cold, and Vaengr burrowed further into the pelts to keep warm. _Let it be a quick death._

_Knocked to the hall floor, Vaengr earned a scrape on her chin. A fist curled into her long hair, pulling her hair back as a child screamed. The Falmer holding her down snarled, a blithe and meaningless sound. She could not see her attackers well in the Blackreach, but knew them well._

_A sudden flare of light blinded her eyes to the dark space, flame from a pipe. The child's screaming stopped abruptly as the other large Falmer swept the boy up by the throat. He was the one called "Gloomlurker" by the servants, never seen, but always there. He doled out punishment as he saw fit, reveled in his power over the hapless and helpless slaves. In the torchlight, Vaengr saw his nostrils flare, and his toothy mouth twist into a mockery of a smile between the pointed edges of the opaque chitin helmet. _

_Vaengr knew what was about to happen as the boys face grew purple. This moment had been etched into her eyelids by fate. The boy was fair, his hair hay colored but dirty from digging tunnels in the black. His eyes were hazel, sunken, and fearful; his skin gaunt. The limbs were frail but tried to pull the choking hand away all the same. The child was known as Fornjot._

_Gloomlurker turned towards her, and snorted thickly of the air. '_It's your fault_,' his expression told her, '_I'm doing this to punish _you. _Because you _disobeyed.'_

_A terrible scream broke forth over the thumping machinery, and it was followed closely by Vaengr's own. The beast crushed the child's head into the wall in one swift movement, ending with a sickening crunch and smear of blood along the golden metal. Fornjot crumpled to the ground and Vaengr wailed where he could not. Released, the woman crawled to the child's body and brought it to her chest. She rocked back and forth clutching Fornjot and spilling hot tears into his once hay colored hair, now dyed red with blood. _

_Gloomlurker hunched before her, cackling in their nonsensical language. His claws reached out and ripped the boy from her arms, backhanding Vaengr as he did so. Her cheek smarted and the woman fell into a dead silence. In the dark, she could hear the scales of the Chaurus, scenting out the new death and preparing to feast. _

_The crunching- she couldn't stand that sound-_

Vaengr jolted awake. She tossed and kicked and struggled in vain. Nails dug into her skin and an unbreakable grip on her hands kept her from pummeling the body beneath the covers with her. She proved no match for the brute strength as he rolled and pinned her beneath him, arms crushed at her sides. He was just a dark looming figure in the lightless tent. Each of his deep breaths were loud, his musk was overpowering. Fresh from the memory Vaengr broke and cried.

"Fornjot," she managed between each lungful, "My Fornjot." That's shat she had named the boy. "Fornjot."

The warrior, Farkas, released her. His oddly gentle hands arranged them as they had been before, although he was tense, unsure of her crying and the name on her lips.

His eyes were gentle, but within them Vaengr sensed something dark. The eyes of a beast.

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><p>The end of the prelog! Sorry for the rough start (haven't wrote much for a while), but I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are much appreciated, and make me work harder! Questions are appreciated as well!<p> 


	2. Unease

It's been a while! I apologize again for the roughness of this chapter, but hope it is up to par! Thank you to all the alerts and favorites and reviews!

I managed to make this chapter a little longer than the other, and I'm hoping to come up with enough ideas to make the next chapter longer yet. For now, read and enjoy, and for the love of Talos don't go camping anytime soon. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Unease

The young gelding underneath Vaengr seemed unperturbed by the snow. His coat was chestnut and wiry underneath her wandering fingers, and his mane soft. Vaengr was envious that the cold did not sting him as it did her. Puffs of the horse's breath fell over the steel clad man leading by the reins.

She took a moment to closer look at her companion. Farkas was_ less_ perturbed by the cold than the horse, trudging his own path down the mountain slopes. His cheeks were red and his armor creaked as he readjusted his grip on the reins. Farkas had told her the horse would not abide his weight along with hers in such snow, thus she rode alone. But Vaengr knew it was his weight alone the horse could not hold because she weighted nothing. The man, although massive and gentle-mannered, often spoke bluntly, carelessly, and without tact.

"I'm not good with words," he said, "My brother was born with the smarts." Vaengr carefully nodded, not sure if his brother was an off-topic in terms of conversation. She did not want to offend him.

She had not spoke much since crying two days before - - not more than was necessary, in her opinion, after having lived with the Falmer. Farkas did not seem to mind that she was physically inept with her frost bitten body and helped her menially. Vaengr often shied away from his help, embarrassed and scared.

Vaengr caught her mind before it ran rampant, jolted back by the brief pause in the gelding's step. The mountain path thinned slowly, before it was a mere rock ledge winding slowly around the mountain. She clung to the beast below her, feeling each of its quick breaths beneath expand.

"Is this safe?" perhaps he heard the terror in her voice, yet he did not stop.

"Who knows," he replied, "These mountains are not my home. But we must go through them to reach Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions. My brother and I live there."

Vaengr knew little of the outside world. She had only been a child when the Falmer had raided her family cottage in the mountains, stealing her into the deep and murdering her family.

"What shall happen when we reach it?" she enquired.

The hulking man ran this thick fingers back through his dark hair before scratching his stubble. "You ask a lot of questions I haven't thought about." Vaengr's lips pursed slightly, unsure. "You going to tell me your name? You're more talkative than usual." He made it seem as if a name was required to go with him to Jorrvaskr.

After a moment of the deafening cold and the horses hooves breaking the surface of the wind hardened snow, she clutched the horse's mane tight. "Vaengr," she answered.

Farkas did not turn. He may not have heard her - - but perhaps it was for the better.

Night had fallen by the time the mountain path had widened and the bitter snowberries had grown into the tall thick pines surrounding the mountain base. Snuffling and snorting, the horse grazed along the mountain stream as Farkas made camp, tossing a bedroll to the ground before a crackling fire which lit the surroundings with a golden glow.

Vaengr watched this with weary eyes, listening warily to every sound that came out of the woods and each creaking shift of the warrior's steel armor. Finally he rested, and patted the bed pelt. "Come, you'll get cold." She may have been a strong woman, but she was tired and already cold, and knew he would be good to her. He draped the pelt over her shoulders and she clutched it as tightly as she could with her blackened fingers, burying her cold face into the soft wolf fur. The air was still icy enough that clenching her face, she could feel the tight muscles refrain from moving back.

They ate quietly of rabbits, and then laid down to rest. Only a few hours past before Vaengr woke, feeling disturbed. She was unsure if it was because of the eerie feeling in her bones, or the fact Farkas had not stripped his armour before rest this time, making sleep uncomfortable. His deep breaths ruffled her hair and his arm draped around her body, holding it tight to his.

No sound came from the woods instead only a hollow wind blew through the trees, and it was suddenly apparent she was not the only one awake as a calloused hand covered her lips. Moments later she heard the horse bellow in pain before the sound cut short and somewhere in the woods, it fell to the leaf strewn ground.

"Shh," Farkas's voice was low, his hot breath caressing against her neck.

Vaengr's short lived feelings condensed into a moment of terror, heart drumming like those metal machines in the deep, as a white contorted face appeared from the trees. The sightless face and the gaunt paper-thin skin glowed in the embers of the dead fire as it neared, hunched, breathing in long, horrible, lungfuls through the slitted nose. And as the Falmer came nearer it grasped a wicked dagger in its claw, fresh horse blood dripping from its sharp edge.

Farkas sprung to his feet, broad sword in hands. The Falmer's shriek turned into a horrible hissing gargle, as with one swing of the blade, Farkas hacked through the creature's crude armor and into its shoulder. And yet, its dying battle shriek was enough to alert others.

"Watch out!" Vaengr cried not a moment late, as another mer- - and another unending, charged from the woods with long ghastly swords drawn above their heads. Just as Farkas jerked his sword free from the fallen Falmer with a grunt he kicked one of the beasts back with a heavy boot - - a loud crack splitting the air.

A million different thoughts swirled in Vaengr's head - - a hunting party? For what - - her? Prey? Where had they come from? Had they followed her? Vaengr scrambled to find her feet, her bandaged hands grasping the end of a log in the coals. The injured Falmer crumpled as she split the log over his head with an appalling thwack and spray of embers, oily blood flowing from the gash.

A heavy torso hurled into her side not a moment later, knocking her into the cold ground. Claws grabbing at Vaengr's hair and clothes she shrieked and kicked, somehow managing to knock the animal off. A horrible piercing screech broke forth as its fall broke against the still hot coals of the nights fire and the smell of cooking flesh filled Vaengr's nose. The Falmer's pain boosted its vicious hatred, snarling at her and baring sharp sickly teeth imbedded in pale wet gums. She scrambled backwards, heaving for air, only pounding in her head.

The beast lunged and she screamed as it screamed, her eyes squeezing shut and clenching the broken end of the stick before her-

Hot wet blood gushed through her dirty bandaged hands and over her ragged clothes. Gargling spasms wracked the Falmer and Vaengr flinched, staring into the creatures eyeless gaze and snarling face. It took one long moment to realize that it was not her blood that was hot against her skin, nor her life that had gone. Her frightened breaths were nearly smothered underneath the dead weight of the Falmer.

A moment later with the crunching of ground, the corpse was heaved off her. "Are you hurt?" Farkas looked worse for wear than she, his armour dented and a long bloody gash along his arm, one of his eyes blinded by blood from a wound to his eyebrow, matting his hair. He thought her eyes looked wild by the pale moonlight.

"I-I'm fine." Vaengr managed with a winded breath.

"The horse is dead," Farkas brought her to her feet, "we should head out in case there's more."

As Farkas gathered camp, Vaengr looked at the broken Falmer acrimoniously. They deserved a more painful death than this. She'd seen them torture others, like her, for no other reason than not being Falmer, sometimes they'd brutalize their own - - those that were weak or sick, or just not in with the others. The Falmer were more beast than mer, like pale troll-kin.

They traveled some distance before the roar of a river met their ears, for which Vaengr was thankful, as she could barely keep pace with the giant of a man who forged down the mountain without a care. The mountain base had leveled out into a frozen veld, where tundra grass was abundant and only shrubs broke the tenuous horizon. Far across the plains there was a light, a red glow bright against Masser's and Secunda's light. The two moons were so large, with nothing to block the view, that Vaengr felt she could touch them.

"What's that?" she panted, referring to the fire across the prairie.

Farkas turned to look as he kneeled next to the river, "That's Whiterun. Jorrvaskr is within its gates." The man cupped his hands in the water and drank greedily, as did she after a moment longer.

His wound still bled, but slightly; Farkas rubbed his forearm with cool water to wash away the dried blood and a low grunt escaped him. The cut next to his eye had all but stopped.

"Does it hurt badly?" she asked, touching at his forearm with her finger tips.

He tensed, "It's just a flesh wound, it will heal." For the first time since meeting the long haired Nord, his dark eyes were slightly wary. Vaengr looked closer at the wound, and thought that it was not as bad as she first thought, and reached to touch the wound - his hand clamped over hers. "You mustn't."

"I can sew it shut," Vaengr thought his actions odd, but didn't question him. "If it isn't sewn shut, you'll take ill before we reach this Jorrvaskr, and I cannot carry you the rest of the way."

He thought over her logic (it had been his logic, not long ago) for a little longer before consenting, as his large hands were not very good with a needle. One was fetched from his traveling gear with a length of strong horse hair. She washed the wound a bit better than he and methodically sew the serrated wound together. Certain that it would hold, she tore a bit of cloth from her shirt and dipped it in the water to dab at his brow.

"How does it look?" he asked as Vaengr cleared dried blood from his eye, and with it, dark war paint.

"You'll live," she said softly, not expecting this moment to bring back the feeling of Fornjot's loss. Her throat felt hot and with some restraint she finished giving the man back the use of his eye. If the burly man noticed her changed in demeanor he said not, and for that Vaengr was thankful.

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><p>They reached Whiterun late mid-day. Ragged, Vaengr's feet felt more bloodied and bruised from the trek than from frostbite. The large village busied with people; just inside the gate Vaengr had hollowly watched a woman sweat before a forge, pounding a hammer on iron on anvil. The bellows whooshed and the clanging of steel on steel echoed from the gray stone walls. Vaengr tried to remember the few times as a child when she'd gone to market with her father, but holding the images was harder than holding water.<p>

Jorrvaskr's shield decorated hull beckoned. Farkas and Vaengr had made it half way up the steps before a woman called, "Look what the dog's drug in this time!" She stood, arms crossed and green eyes piercing beneath her wild red hair. Her nose upturned slightly "Ugh, that smell. Did a bunch of skeever's piss on ye? You're wounded too." But she was not unfriendly.

"There was trouble." Farkas grunted noncommittally, easing his way up to the doors. It took him a moment to realized Vaengr hadn't followed, and turned towards her.

The woman eyed Vaengr, sizing her starved body and her bloody rags of clothes. The woman's voice was husky and sharp. "I'm Aela, the Huntress. Who are you?"

"Vaengr." Her voice wavered, unsure. Aela's stony stare disconcerted her, as, just like Farkas's, she felt something strange inside it. Vaengr had learned in the Blackreach not to distrust herself, for death was common to those who did - - and yet Vaengr wondered if it was just in her head. The Falmer imprisoned her no longer, there was little need for such stress.

Farkas's warm hand, landing on her shoulder, reprieved Vaengr from her thoughts. "Come, I'll speak to Kodlak and get you a bed. He'll know what to do."

"She's not fit to be a Shield Sister, ice-for-brains," Aela said, goading him. Vaengr decided right then that she did not particularly care for this woman, who knew nothing of her but was quick to make assumptions. Vaengr may not have known what a _Shield Sister_ exactly was, or even if she wanted to become one - for that matter would, but who was this Huntress to doubt? Vaengr pursed her lips.

Farkas frowned at the nickname, "That's not for you to decide." The man lead past Aela who only watched Vaengr with that unnerving gaze to the double doors.

The warm mead hall took Vaengr in. The heavy wooden and stone built walls reflected the glow of the fire pit before the long rectangular table, but was empty besides two occupants. An old Nord with balding hair and impressive armor sat to the far right, and next to him another man of similar age and same armour but his gray-white hair was long and braided with twine. He stroked his full beard with a gnarled hand as Farkas tossed his ruined trappings to the floor.

"Farkas, you're late!" the first had a degree of command to his voice, and as he turned towards them fully Vaengr saw his eye had been torn from socket long ago. It must have been a horrible wound at one point, perhaps nearly killing him. His one working eye struck gold on her. "Who's this?"

"Vaengr," Farkas introduced, stepping down to the table. "She needs a bed." It seemed more of a statement than a request.

To her, this place did not feel welcoming. It was too open, the people strangers. But the food… it was more food than she'd ever remembered seeing before. Her mouth watered, unwanted, but her stomach could not force a growl.

"Come here, girl," the balding man beckoned with his hand.

"I am no girl," she managed.

The other smiled beneath his beard, "Pay no mind to Skjor, come where I can see you."

She stood before him, his stern face made of hard lines and although he was sitting he was still as large and imposing as a bear. Vaengr could see now how truly old he was and in his blue eyes a certain keenness of spirit. She assumed he was Kodlak.

"A girl you are not. This blood, is it yours?"

She looked to her blood stained clothes, "No, milord."

"Then whose?"

"The blood is Falmer," Farkas answered, "she killed two. Hit one over the head and stabbed the other with a twig." A log is no twig.

"Falmer?" Skjor spit, as if the word disgusted him. "Story tales, to keep the children in bed."

"They aren't. We were attacked ," Vaengr asseverated. The fire crackled for one long moment, as the conviction in Vaengr's voice rang true.

"Falmer blood," Farkas asserted with her. "And that mining job, they were there as well."

Skjor broke the silence with a small amount of disbelief - understandably, if he could not trust Vaengr, he could trust his own. "Kodlak…?" his question trailed, as if waiting for agreement.

Kodlak's eyes searched Vaengr, looking into her soul. Perhaps he could see her past, perhaps he only saw her as she was, as a starved woman with frost bitten limbs. He stroked his beard for a moment more. "Jorrvaskr is a home for willing hearts. If it is a bed she wishes, so be it. Tilma!"

A haggard old woman appeared, dark rings around her eyes as if she had not caught much sleep, rolling a wooden ladle against her apron. Her lips were pursed and her eyes surprisingly rough for one so old. Her voice was weak, and cracked. "Yes?"

"Clean this one up, and show her to your quarters."

"I see," the woman formed what must have been a smile, "someone to help me?" but Tilma did not wait for Kodlak's answer, instead turning to Vaengr and hushing her along with surprising strength. "This way, dear. This way. A nice_ bath_ will get that blood of ye."

Vaengr barely managed a thank you to the bear like man in his throne seat.

"Be careful with her, Tilma!" Farkas called, but he did not sound worried, before Skjor and Kodlak turned back to him.

Vaengr wondered if she should be.

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><p>Now for reviews! :) (also with much thanks, as will be apparent!) THANK YOU FOR READING AND PLEASE REVIEW. Reviews inspire me to write.<p>

Catori1207: I live in Minnesota, and unfortunately, have had frostbite before! I recovered though. And that shit hurts. :) I'm happy my thesaurus skills paid off!

Y-ko: But... but... Farkas... nekkids D:

Shandriss: LOL I hope he's interested in women, otherwise this story is for naught!

LucitheCompanion: Thank you so much! /blush. I hope you like this chapter as well.

Guest: APPROVED!

Birdy Main: There's just something about big dopey guys/wolves that makes our hearts burn, eh?

Siliniez: I hope you could wait for this! :D

crazililwabbit: Farkas cuddles are the best! Thank you so much :)

Skippie89: I haven't decided yet if I want Fornjot to be her biological son or not, but generally speaking yes :) Thank you!

artattack: I hope you check enough to catch this chapter! Thank you so much!

catcher in the light: Love your review 3 I've read it over and over. I'm happy you liked "At the End" as well! I'm surprised Falmer haven't been used more in stories, cuz they're really creepy (and no one can deny that when they sneak up on you you jump out of your freaking seat D:) I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

Found-In-Reverie: It's just practice :) thank you so much!

Suilaid: I hope this fulfills your dreams!


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